Rage
by HCAddict
Summary: Post 10x21, Sam and Dean face the consequences of Sam's attempt to find a cure for the Mark. T for cursing.


**_Before I post this, I want you to know that the boys' thoughts and statements in no way reflect what I personally believe, just what I think would be going through their heads. I love both boys and they're a lot meaner to themselves than I'd ever be to them_** **.**

 **xxx**

Before they opened the hotel room door, they knew. As they approached the bathroom, they prepared. The air was thick and crackling with apprehension, tension and death. The stench of coppery blood coated their nostrils and lungs, making it hard to breathe. Still, they proceeded forward, hoping that they were wrong, hoping that for once things would turn in their favor.

 _Please let her be okay._ Sam thought, picking up his pace ever so slightly so he reached the bathroom door first, even though he knew that he was walking into a crime scene. _Not Charlie_.

He could feel Dean behind him, still radiating disapproval and anger over the knowledge he had gained throughout the course of the evening though on top of the festering rage, the worry and fear was even more pronounced, nearly suffocating him as he steeled himself and moved to the bathroom entrance. The moment he laid eyes on her, he was pretty sure his life would never be the same again.

It had been traumatic to see Jess burn on the ceiling and he had felt the burden of guilt for her death for months. When his father died, he had felt like there was a gaping hole inside of him, even though their relationship had been more than slightly strained. When Dean had died for the first time, he was too fixated on revenge and resolution to fully succumb to the guilt that he knew rested on his shoulders. He had been sad when Ellen, Jo, Ash, Pamela and so many others in his life had died, but it was easier to cope by keeping the big picture in mind. It had been awful when Bobby died, the pain so overwhelming that it felt tangible at times, but there was little guilt to be felt there; Bobby had known what he was getting into. It was more grief than guilt, which was something that was easier for Sam to work through. When Dean died again, there hadn't been enough time to process what was happening before Dean had disappeared, and then finding him had been a priority.

This was different. This was on him; he had asked Charlie to come here. He had set her to work on the codex despite her objections, despite Cas's objections. He had left Cas in charge of two incompatible people and expected the angel to be able to manage their clashing personalities, even knowing Rowena was a manipulative bitch. He hadn't tried to talk to Charlie when Cas warned him she was wanting to get away.

He hadn't protected her.

Seeing her body, bloody and broken in the bathtub, hit him like a freight train, leaving him lightheaded and unsteady, his stomach rising and his heart racing. He swallowed back the vomit that surged into his throat, unable to form a single coherent thought as he took in her abused body.

He had enlisted her, and she had died. He had gotten her killed. Dean had warned them that the book was dangerous, and he had been arrogant enough to think he knew better, to think nothing would happen, and now she was gone. She had been like a sister to them, and he had repaid her by getting her killed.

Tears stung his eyes and he shut them tightly, his breathing heavy and ragged as he tried to regain his composure. Dean was going to be furious, Dean was going to have his head for this atrocity. Forcing himself to open his eyes and function, he took a step away from his brother, waiting for the explosion, the blame, the hatred, the fury. He could feel it in the air, tingling like electricity waiting for a spark. There was going to be an explosion, and it was going to be big enough to register on the Richter scale.

"We need to get her out of here before the cops show up." Dean said hoarsely, refusing to meet Sam's eye and instead inching closer towards Charlie's clearly dead body, "We're going to give her the hunter's burial she deserves, and then we're going to kill every last fucking Styne on the planet." He glanced in Sam's direction, added coldly as he motioned between he and his brother, "And then we're going to handle this."

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to defend himself, wanted to find something to say that would make this better, but he was at a complete loss for words, so instead he murmured, "I'll get the sheets and some rope from the car."

As Sam hastily exited, still pale and shaky, Dean walked to the tub, squatting down and touching Charlie's cheek lightly with his hand, "I'm so sorry, this was never supposed to happen to you…"

He let his head tilt backwards, and exhaled slowly while letting his eyes close for a second to prevent the tears he could feel prickling from actually falling. His breath was shaky as he inhaled sharply, his body trying to decide which emotion was going to burst through first and foremost; despair or fury. He leaned forward again, running his thumb across her cheek and whispering, "They're going down for this, they won't get away with what they've done...damn it! I tried to warn you about how dangerous this book was, this whole fucking life was! But you didn't want to hear it, Sam didn't want to hear it...I'm so fucking tired of losing people I care about."

He heard the door slam shut and he stood, rubbing his face with his other hand to try and wipe away the emotion shining through. Charlie had been like a little sister to them; there when they needed her, smart and resourceful. She had reminded them how to have a good time, she had been there to listen to them when they were having issues. She had been willing to risk her life time and again on their behalf and this time had been the one time she had pushed too far.

She was never supposed to be in this life; she had been safe until they pulled her in. Hell, she had been safe again after until they pulled her back in _again_. Aside from Cas, she was a closest thing to a friend they had, not only that, she was part of their family!, and she had paid a hefty price for it, just like everyone else who dared associate themselves closely with the Winchesters. They had to be cursed or something; there was no way it was natural to get everyone they even remotely cared about killed. What was the point of saving innocent people when their repayment was to lose every single person they cared about?

Even the two of them were different people now, and that's what made Dean feel the worst of all. Everything they had been through had morphed himself and Sam into barely recognizable versions of who they had been as early hunters. They were willing to do more to keep the little stability they had left; they were willing to go beyond what was probably sane and moral. Ten years ago, even five years ago, Sam wouldn't have risked Charlie like that just to save Dean. He would have researched and studied and tried everything in his power to find a cure, but he wouldn't have let a girl who had little experience get this immersed, especially knowing the dangers involved with this particular source of information. Similarly, 5 or 10 years ago Dean wouldn't have let anyone get that close to them unless they were also in the life and had a healthy respect for and realistic idea of the risks and dangers involved.

He wanted to blame Sam for this, rightfully so since Sam had been the one to drag Charlie back into something that he had clearly, repeatedly and forcefully told him not to persue. But if he was completely honest with himself, he held some of the blame too. The Mark of Cain was his problem, his issue. It wasn't on Sam, Charlie, Castiel or anyone else to fix him, to cure him. Not only was there no cure, but it was highly dangerous for any of them to get too close until Dean himself was sure he could control the urges that flared as a result of the curse on his arm. He should have distanced himself from his brother, from his friends, ages ago but had been unable to bring himself to do so. Now it was too late, the damage was already starting.

 _There is no resisting the Mark or the Blade! There is only remission and relapse!  
My story began when I killed my brother, and that is where your story will inevitably end.  
First you'd kill Crowley...you'd get it done, no remorse. And then you'd kill the angel, Castiel. Now I suspect that one would hurt something awful. Then would come the murder you'd never survive…._

He hadn't wanted to believe it, but "remission and relapse" seemed like a valid label for how he had been feeling lately and the roller coaster of ups and downs he'd experienced over the last several months. It was exhausting, it was dangerous and it was downright terrifying. He couldn't talk about this with Sam, because Sam didn't know what Cain had said. He didn't _want_ Sam to know what Cain had said.

It was infuriating to know that his brother had been sneaking around behind his back and doing things that he knew Dean didn't approve of; hadn't he learned his lesson with Ruby all those years ago? Didn't Sam realize that secrets and lies only drove them further apart and weakened them? He could picture Sam's response, along the lines of 'you didn't mind sneaking around and lying to me about Gadreel', but thinking about that time in their lives was painful and Dean didn't like to remember how close he had come to losing Sam.

"I...uh...I have everything we need." Sam said hesitantly from the doorway, his voice unsteady as if he wasn't sure he should interrupt, "Do you want me to…?"

"Haven't you done enough?" Dean spat out venomously, his despair quickly morphing to anger as he finally laid eyes on Sam, who looked every bit as devastated as Dean, himself, felt. He knew it was unreasonable, because he knew Sam loved Charlie just as much as he did, but he was unable to quell the spike of anger at the idea that Sam dared to grieve after he pulled Charlie into this mess, after he left her to her own defenses which led to her death. Knowing it was unreasonable, though, wasn't enough to stop the waves of fury from rolling through him, starting in his arm and pulsing inwards, up and down until it flowed through him as steady as his heartbeat.

"I know. I'm sorry."

The defeated, guilt-laced tone of his younger brother only increased the fury pounding through Dean's veins and he grabbed the sheets and rope from his brother before forcefully shoving the younger man out of the room, snarling, "You don't deserve to be here after you got her killed. Wait in the car and don't fuck anything else up."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but Dean silenced him with a glare and a clenching fist, and moments later the motel room door quietly clicked shut behind his defeated little brother. Dean turned his attention towards the tub, shaking his head slightly when he realized he wasn't going to let his final image of Charlie be one that was bloodsoaked and gory. Instead, he gently lifted her, laying her on the sheet with as much care as he would have given to her if she were alive and only injured, then he grabbed a washcloth from the rack and wet it, carefully cleaning her arms, face and neck until the only blood that remained was contained to her clothing. He gently crossed her arms over her chest, then bent down and rested his forehead against hers with a quiet whisper that he'd make this right. He wanted to say goodbye, but it was too soon, he couldn't bring himself to that point yet.

He carefully wrapped her, his breath hitching as he covered her face, and then gently lifted her and carried her to the car, glad that this particular motel seemed to be exceptionally empty even for a craphole they usually found themselves in. He laid her in the backseat, making sure she was secure before getting into the driver's seat, blatantly ignoring his brother. It would do no good to fight right now, they had more pressing matters at hand.

Sam made no movement to acknowledge his brother as Dean entered the car, knowing that things would only escalate and nothing he would say would be the right thing. He'd seen what his brother had been like after losing a loved one, starting with Dad and ending with Kevin; there was nothing he could say that would encourage Dean to talk about his feelings, nor did he think it would help even if his brother did open up. He wasn't stupid, he could practically see the rage rolling off of his brother and knew nothing good would come out of talking through anything at this moment. Dean had been right; this was his fault and the blame for losing Charlie rested on his head. He'd never be able to forgive himself, nor did he deserve Dean's forgiveness.

He didn't expect things to go this way, but he should have known they would. Nothing good came from lying to Dean, and it always blew up in his face; usually the better his intentions were, the worse the fallout. This time would be no exception. He only wanted to save Dean, he wanted his brother back. He wanted, no, he needed to repair the damage that had been done after he had found out about Gadreel's possession of his body, he needed Dean to know that regardless of what had been said in the past, there was nothing he wouldn't do for his older brother, the man who had raised him and the one person, above all, that he could depend on.

Sam wanted to apologize, but the words sounded meaningless in his head as he thought of what he would say and how he'd say it. There was no way to apologize for leading someone that they felt sisterly with to her death. There was no way to apologize for lying to Dean, for sneaking around and going against Dean's direct plea to stop. Sorry was such a pathetic, meaningless word, but it was all he had. He had the sinking suspicion that if he even tried to talk to the older man right now, he'd be rewarded with a fist to the face, maybe even two.

They were silent as they built a funeral pyre, and instead of saying a few words, they both reflected silently around the flames, discreetly wiping away tears while determinedly ignoring the others.

 _I'm so sorry, Charlie. If I could go back and do things differently, I would have kept you somewhere away from Rowena, somewhere safe where I could have ensured your safety. I didn't think this would happen...I'm so sorry. Goodbye, Charlie, I love you._

 _I can't believe this is happening. They're going to pay, every last one of them, and I won't stop until I see the life leave their eyes. You're a Winchester in every way that matters, and no one takes out a Winchester like that. I'm going to make sure that those fuckers get what they deserve. You're like the little sister we never had, and I didn't realize how much I enjoyed that until just now. Give them hell in heaven, Your Highness._

The fire burned out before either boy moved, both absorbed in their guilt, remorse, grief and memories. It wasn't until Sam had been bitten by his eighteenth mosquito, fire only embers, that he asked his brother, "You ready to go home?"

"I don't want to go anywhere with you." Dean replied honestly, his voice strong and cold despite the fact that his emotions were as wobbly as jello at the moment. "This is on your head, Sam. You did this."

"Styne did this." Sam replied quietly, though he knew his brother was right.

"He wouldn't have been anywhere near her if you hadn't of brought her here."

"You don't know that."

"The hell I don't!" Dean shouted, taking a step towards his brother, fury bubbling and spilling over the surface in waves of pure hatred that felt unnatural in regards to his brother but so warm and welcoming that it was hard to care that it was misplaced and influenced by the scar on his arm. "You snuck around behind my back and brought her right into their line of sight, and then you abandoned her and left her to die! This is on you, Sam!"

"If they were looking for the book, they may have gone after her anyway."

"If you would have burned the fucking book, they would have found the damn thing in the fireplace and she'd have been safe! Still on you, Sam!"

"Don't you think I know that!?" Sam shouted, vision obscured by tears as Dean's words penetrated his soul with more agonizing pain that he would have previously thought possible, "But I was trying to save you! I thought this would help!"

"I don't want your help!" Dean bellowed, his fist making contact with Sam's jaw as his already ignited temper reached its explosion point, "I want you to just do what I ask you to for once in your damn life! Why can't you ever just do what _anyone_ asks you to do? Don't you get tired of always having your ideas and plans be the _wrong_ ones?"

Sam reached up to touch his lip, then moved his hand gently to his jaw, making sure nothing was broken before he spit out a mouthful of blood, "You can hit me all you want, Dean, but I'm not going to stop until I've found a way to fix this, and I really don't care what the cost is." He hit the ground as Dean's fist made contact again, though the younger man stubbornly rose to his feet and continued, "I love Charlie and I'm sorry she's gone, but I don't regret asking her for help and I don't regret her involvement. I only regret that she's done. I'd do it again, if it meant possibly finding a way to remove the Mark."

Sam ducked out of the way of the third swing, grabbing his brother's arm and twisting it backwards roughly, "I'm not going to stop until you're free of the Mark, and provided Charlie was able to make any progress, I think I may have a way to do it."

"It's not," Dean shouted, pulling away and slamming his fist into Sam's face again as rage mounted to a nearly unsurpassed level, "fucking," he grabbed Sam's hair, pulling his brother's face close to his own until they were a mere inch apart, "Worth it. Damn it, Sam! It's not worth anyone's fucking life!"

"I don't care, I'm going to save you. I have to save you!"

"I don't want you to save me!" Dean raged, barely aware anymore of what words were pouring from his mouth, only wanting them to inflict the most pain imaginable, "I just want you to stop before you get someone else I love murdered!"

Sam had zero chance to respond before Dean was on top of him, pummeling him with supercharged strength that had to be a byproduct from the Mark and not his actual brother. He struggled to get away, getting a few swings in himself as he tried to break free. The fight felt like it lasted for hours, Sam's vision clouded by blood and swelling, though it couldn't have taken more than just five or ten minutes before Sam had resisted with all of his strength only to find Dean's stamina was unrelenting when being charged by the curse on his arm.

Years of rage bubbled to the surface, starting from resentment at having to raise Sam. the younger brother abandoning his family for college, the demon blood and darkness, regretting making the deal to save Sam's life "if he had known how much letting him live would severely fuck up the world time and again", his betrayal over Ruby, the headache of having to put up first with no-souled Sam and then batshit crazy hallucinating Sam. And the early years were just the foundation, Dean had plenty to say about recent years; Sam not searching for him that year in Purgatory, the trials and the fallout from them, the fighting that had taken place after Gadreel. Of course, the most relevant and recent was Sam's betrayal over the book and the Mark of Cain, and just the idea that Sam had all but signed Charlie's death warrant himself.

Somewhere during the middle of the tirade, Sam had stopped fighting back and struggling. None of this was breaking news, Sam was well aware of everything they'd been through and how much f the blame rested on his shoulders. Maybe he did deserve this, maybe Dean _couldn't_ be saved, maybe there was no fighting destiny.

Dean continued to unleash fury upon his younger brother, his hatred only fueling the fire for Sam's own self-loathing. Still, he couldn't give up. He wouldn't. Even if it meant he had to sacrifice Charlie, Cas, Rowena or even himself to remove the curse. There was nothing he wouldn't try, and he wasn't sure what was scarier, the fact that he knew this fact to be true or the fact that he didn't feel nearly as remorseful as he should. Darkness dotted the edges of consciousness and he groaned as Dean delivered yet another crushing blow to his chest, feeling the snap of a rib cracking under the force. He was only vaguely aware of Castiel's presence seconds before his eyes slid closed and he knew no more.

 **xxxx**


End file.
